


Day 13: Alt #16 - Bound

by Aelaer



Series: Whumptober 2019 [13]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abduction, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Captivity, Chains, Collars, Cults, Gen, Multiverse, Wrongful Imprisonment, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 03:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelaer/pseuds/Aelaer
Summary: If Stephen had one word for his confinement, the word would most certainly be "overkill".





	Day 13: Alt #16 - Bound

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to [Day 9: Shackled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076163), so you may want to read that first. 
> 
> This also fills a Bad Things Happen bingo square for 'Collared and Chained'.
> 
> No particular warnings.

If Stephen had one word for his confinement, the word would most certainly be "overkill".

It was in a way somewhat flattering to be considered such a threat by these occultists. The seal upon the floor of the cell was well done and would make use of dimensional energy significantly more difficult.

They had forced him to his knees in the center of the seal, then brought up a heavy collar attached to a length of chain. He forced himself not to flinch as they set the collar around his neck, then locked the end of the chain to a hook in the floor; the chain was too short to allow him to stand.

With his hands still caught behind him pressed within the large manacles, overall the situation wasn't looking that great. There was an upside to his new position, however, in that they removed the damned gag. The collar, heavy as it was, was very much an upgrade from the uncomfortable bit.

More importantly, he could finally ask some questions and maybe, just maybe, get something resembling answers regarding what on earth this whole thing was actually about. At this point of time Stephen felt he was _ owed _ an answer as to what they wanted with him. It clearly wasn't _ good_, but some more details would be preferable.

After they finished securing him, several of them left the cell made to contain him until there were only three remaining, including the one who had spoken to him earlier. It was he that muttered to the other two, "Keep a close watch on him," before he turned to leave.

"Wait," Stephen called to what appeared to be the lead occultist (or someone in a position of power) before he exited. "You went through all this trouble to get me and you're not going to tell me what you actually _ want_?"

The man turned and raised a brow at him. "Can't you guess, Doctor?"

"I have a dozen guesses, but something more substantial would be preferred," he answered. "You need me for something and it may be beneficial if I actually knew _ what _ I'm supposed to do."

He huffed in amusement. "You need do nothing, Doctor Strange, save wait here until you meet your fate."

Stephen raised his brows. "And my fate is?"

"Sacrifice."

He was afraid he was going to say something like that. He exhaled slowly and tried to shift his cramped, aching hands within his fetters with little success. "Why me?"

"It's always you."

"...what?" He didn't bother hiding his confusion.

The occultist slightly smirked. "You truly have no idea. I expect that out of the ones that are not yet sorcerers, but with one supposedly as experienced as you? Pathetic."

Stephen felt his irritation growing. "And you have yet to answer the question. Do I need to repeat it?"

"Curb your insolence," he answered, narrowing his eyes. In turn, Stephen pressed his lips tightly together to keep his annoyance in check, if only on the chance to get more information; he was banking on the fact that these sort of people really liked the sound of their own voice. Unsurprisingly, this man seemed to share that trait, as he continued with, "One of your many counterparts within the multiverse made a poor choice in refusing the power and wisdom of the Old Ones."

His brow furrowed as he wracked his brain for reference for that term in his mind, and rather than coming his more recent studies within Kamar-Taj, his memory took him back to his later high school days as he listened to Metallica and Black Sabbath and read— "H.P. Lovecraft? _ Seriously? _ Are you expecting me to believe you hear the word of Cthulhu?"

The man slightly flinched at the name, and that was not the reaction Stephen was expecting. "Greater in power than the Great Dreamer. So much greater."

He couldn't help it; he scoffed. "I've seen demonic, world-eating entities before and absolutely none of them were found in pulp horror books. I don't doubt that _ you _ think you're going to sacrifice me to some Great Old One, but the Cthulhu Mythos is _ fiction_."

Crossing the distance between them in a couple quick steps, the occultist then raised his hand and backhanded Stephen, making his head whip to the side at the force of the blow. "I will not hear such blasphemy against the Greatest of the Old Ones!" he snarled.

The blow had broken skin; he could feel the blood trickling down his right cheek. As Stephen straightened, he saw one of the other occultists coming to him with the gag, and _ damn it all_, he really should have kept his thoughts to himself. The instinctive urge to struggle pushed against his earlier promise of compliance, causing the start of a migraine at his temples, and by the time he had settled that instinct, they already had his head held in place as they forced the bit into his mouth and secured the wretched thing around his skull.

Muted once more, he settled for a stony glare at the head occultist.

The occultist matched his glare with one of his own. "The Great Shuma-Gorath, Devourer-God of the Eternal Ever-Was, has tasked his disciples with seeing to the destruction of all named Stephen Strange across every reality so he may remain unhindered in his destiny to rule Earth across the Multiverse. For _ your _ case, however, I will personally beseech the Withering Devourer to _ lay waste _ to your world. May he grant me that boon." With that, the man left, leaving his silent guardsmen at the door.

_ Well_, Stephen thought, _ shit_.

**Author's Note:**

> Marvel took the name Shuma-Gorath from a short story by Robert E Howard (of Conan fame), who was one of many writers within Lovecraft's circle creating stories inspired by the Cthulhu mythos. Shuma-Gorath is not one Lovecraft wrote, but as they were all meant to be in the same universe, I treated it the same here. Big thanks to all the nerds who have contributed so much to Wikipedia, you save me so much time.


End file.
